In which the old guard changeth.
The rules are complex. You see, employers must give 12 weeks of parental leave thanks to the Family Medical Leave Act (FMLA). That's simple. What you gotta do to qualify for them... well, there's the trick.
For Robin, we believed her time off began when we left for Kazakhstan and ended roughly three months later. For as much time as she had vacation, she was paid. Beyond that, well, we're eating a bit more macaroni and cheese than we used to.
This is, of course, what we believed only. We're now learning there are many rules regarding custody and the use of Extended Sick Leave vs. Paid Time Off. As a result, our cash flow looks more like a cash trickle.
At any rate, the homebound gig was up for her on the 11th.
For me, the dive had a few more twists. I knew up front that I couldn't start FMLA until we had custody of Owen, so my first two weeks in Kokshetau were vacation. (Those weeks were strangely absent of the tan I usually seek in a winter vacation, but what the heck.) After court on February 3, I could count FMLA ONLY if I was the primary caregiver.
Which, of course, I was. Robin barely lifted a finger the whole time we were abroad. You believe this, don't you?
Later, returning to the States, I had to go pretty much immediately back to work because Robin became Primary Caregiver and stayed home with him until this week. Now that she's back at work, though, we still have two weeks left in the 12 weeks from custody, so off I go again-- Primary Caregiver Extraordinaire.
Confused? Us, too. It's a bit of a crapshoot as to whether this month's electric bill will get paid but we're having fun.
Mostly.
You see Robin used her time at home to establish Owen on a nice, comfortable routine of eating and sleeping and generally being happy and content. I played it a bit more by ear. Owen and I did have a nice outing on Friday, but during our little stroll of the Kansas City Plaza, we missed the nap window. And, as of this writing, we still haven't gotten it back.
The poor guy's fussed all weekend. He sleeps no more than an hour at a stretch during the day, wakes several times during the night and he won't eat much at meal times. There's also a spectacular booger stalactite descending from his right nostril. We've tried to remedy this last but apparently Owen has grown rather fond of it for he adamantly refuses to allow us near it.
Despite all this, Owen did manage to make some of the rounds. You can see him at left with Grandpa Henshaw, Grandma Hess, Great Aunt Chris, the Planter's Nuts Barbara and Norma, and Dad's college buddy Amy Albrecht visiting from Wyoming.
We've also been slipping in a few Day Care previews. Owen's had lunch there twice-- once with Mom last week and once with Dad this past Wednesday. The kids there crawl forward and pull up. Already the peer pressure weighs on our son. They get to feed themselves, too. In fairness to Mom and Dad, however, they do so on an enormous pad of indestructible linoleum and covered in a bib that stretches from the neck past the toes.
These things offer a bit more flexibility for experimentation with wet stickiness.
Dad has one more week to make his son miserable and then Owen will be off to hang with Miss Kim at Day Care full time. (He'll be one of the Zebras, in case you were wondering.)
I will do my best to remain faithful to the routine and not kill my son. It's difficult, however.
The rules are complex.
